The following day, someone arrived to lead Yang Lianting to the southern mountains to pay respects to his ancestors. Leng Feiyan and Zuo Canglang accompanied him. As they passed through the city of Jinyang, the three of them looked at everything with wide-eyed wonder, like country bumpkins entering the capital for the first time. Unfortunately, they had no silver on them, so they could only feast their eyes.
Once they exited the city, however, all three froze. A massive throng of people in ragged clothes had gathered outside the city walls. It was late in the first lunar month, and the weather was biting cold; some among the crowd were already drawing their final breaths. Occasionally, someone would try to enter the city, only to be met with the harsh shouts of the guards. In the distance, a row of archers stood ready, serving as a lethal deterrent to anyone contemplating a forced entry.
The three exchanged glances. Leng Feiyan asked their guide, "Why are there so many people gathered here?"
The guide was a foreman whom Murong Yan had sent to assist Yang Lianting with the repairs to the ancestral graves. Hearing her question, he simply shook his head. "Just some refugees. They can’t make a living elsewhere, so they’ve come here hoping for a way to survive."
"Has there been a disaster somewhere?" Leng Feiyan asked.
The guide glanced at her and remarked, "You must be joking, young lady. In these times... one doesn't need a natural disaster to suffer."
Leng Feiyan was stunned. "No disaster? Then how could they..."
The guide shooed away a small child who had approached to beg for food. "The Kingdom of Yan sends tribute to Xijing every year, while the tribes of Tuhe, He, Lingzhi, and Shanrong invade annually. With the chaos of war and constant turmoil, well..." He sighed, then suddenly caught himself. "Let’s not discuss state affairs. My brothers are already waiting at Young Master Yang’s ancestral tombs. We just need the Young Master to take a look and decide on the specifics of the restoration. Heh, we’ve even built the tomb for the father of Lord Wang, the Minister of Ceremonies. We guarantee your satisfaction..."
He prattled on from atop his horse. Zuo Canglang and the others rode alongside him, passing through the rows of refugees lining the road. Their eyes were sunken and large, their lips pale. Hearing the sound of hooves, some opened their eyes to look, appearing as though they wanted to rise, but they only twitched before sinking back onto the frozen ground.
"Sister..." A child approached, stretching out a pair of withered, blackened hands. His eyes were disproportionately large, staring at them with intense longing. Zuo Canglang felt at her waist, but she naturally didn't have a single copper coin.
"Move along, move along!" the guide barked. "Watch out for the whip!"
The child retreated timidly. The horses neighed softly and continued their journey south. The three looked back; behind them, the imperial road stretched majestically into the city gates, while the dark mass of the crowd grew smaller and more distant.
The Yang family’s ancestral graves did not actually require much repair. The caretakers had been diligent, and there were hardly any weeds upon the mounds. Yang Lianting knelt before the graves while Leng Feiyan and Zuo Canglang burned spirit money for him. Of his once-great kin, only these cold, solitary mounds remained. Yang Lianting found he could not shed a tear; he simply stared fixedly at the headstones.
The early spring sun made a brief appearance before quickly vanishing behind leaden clouds, leaving the sky a dismal white. The three of them crouched before the graves as tongues of fire licked and curled the paper offerings. On the stone tablet, the words "Lord Yang" were faintly inscribed. Yang Lianting opened his arms and embraced the cold stone. Zuo Canglang patted his shoulder gently.
He finally looked up and said, "I'm fine."
Leng Feiyan chimed in, "Exactly. There’s nothing to be sad about. Who knows if the person inside is even your ancestor?"
Yang Lianting glared at her. She shrugged. "The truth is rarely pleasant to hear."
Since the graves required little work, Yang Lianting finished his rites, and the three returned to the city that afternoon. Wang Yunzhao had already sent people to meet them. Zuo Canglang asked, "Steward Wang, where are we going now?"
Wang Yunzhao replied, "His Highness has ordered this old servant to bring Lady Zuo into the manor. Lady Leng and Young Master Yang will rest at the guest house for the time being; other arrangements will be made for them in a few days."
Zuo Canglang felt a flicker of unease. "Does the Steward know what those arrangements are?"
Wang Yunzhao smiled, offering a word of comfort. "His Highness will certainly not mistreat the three of you. Rest easy, Lady Zuo."
Leng Feiyan gave a half-smile. "Well, isn't this nice? Someone is getting the 'favored position' by the water."
Zuo Canglang’s face flushed crimson instantly, and she aimed a kick at her. Leng Feiyan skipped away nimbly, laughing all the while. Yang Lianting shook his head as he watched them bicker. As they reached the Yuerang Bridge, servants came forward to take the horses from Leng Feiyan and Yang Lianting.
"Lady Zuo, please follow me," Wang Yunzhao said.
By the grey-white bridge, a few strands of willow wept. Zuo Canglang turned around to see Leng Feiyan and Yang Lianting watching her. For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally, Leng Feiyan waved and rode off with the servants. Yang Lianting pursed his lips slightly before saying, "I will be careful. You take care as well."
Zuo Canglang nodded, and Yang Lianting also rode away. The sound of hooves like falling rain grew distant, eventually vanishing into the twilight haze. Zuo Canglang followed Wang Yunzhao, her yellow stallion trotting at a steady pace toward Murong Yan’s residence.
Murong Yan had not been granted a princedom, so his manor was limited by sumptuary laws and was not overly extravagant. However, it was surrounded by lush bamboo and featured small bridges over flowing water, reflecting the refined taste of its master.
Wang Yunzhao led Zuo Canglang inside. Murong Yan was reading in a waterside pavilion. Seeing her approach, he asked, "Did the visit to the graves with Yang Lianting go smoothly today?"
Wang Yunzhao withdrew silently. Zuo Canglang bowed and replied, "Reporting to my Lord, everything went smoothly. Only..."
Murong Yan looked up. Zuo Canglang continued, "Only, he still harbors deep resentment regarding the injustice done to the Yang family."
Murong Yan set down his book and stood, walking to the railing. Looking out from there, one could see the gentle ripples on the green lake and the jade bridge spanning the twilight mist. A late breeze drifted in, and a swallow flew through the vast haze to perch under the eaves, pecking at the fine grain meant for the caged birds.
Zuo Canglang finally raised her head to look directly at him. "My Lord, was the Yang family truly framed?"
Murong Yan said, "The case of Yang Jiling is indeed suspicious. Although my Royal Father ordered his execution, Yang Jiling had already breathed his last before he could be taken to the execution ground. Furthermore, shortly after the family was executed, the Yang manor caught fire. That blaze didn't just wipe out the estate; not a single scrap of paper remained in Yang Jiling’s study. Although Yang Lianting was sold into slavery because of his youth, someone still tried to kill him in secret. To not even spare a child—there is no explanation other than the perpetrator having a guilty conscience."
Zuo Canglang looked up. "Was it Wen Weishu, as he claimed?"
Murong Yan replied, "Years ago, Yang Jiling did indeed attempt to impeach Wen Weishu for the private sale of military horses, but the memorial never reached my Royal Father’s hands. At the time, my Father was unwell, and the Crown Prince was acting as regent. Who approved that memorial and where it eventually went, I do not know. But what if the killer is him? And what if it isn't? After all these years, Yang Jiling is dead and the evidence is lost. He remains the powerful and influential Grand Master of the Stud."
Zuo Canglang lowered her head. After a long silence, she said, "When we left the city today, we saw many refugees at the gates."
Murong Yan said, "In the orphan camp, you were almost entirely cut off from the world. You know nothing of the current state of Yan. Perhaps you thought me cruel for making you kill one another?" Zuo Canglang remained silent; in truth, at that moment, it had been impossible not to think so. Murong Yan continued, "Some things are mere hearsay until you see them, but slowly, you will all come to understand my intentions."
Just as he finished speaking, a maid outside said, "Your Highness, shall dinner be served here?"
"Bring it in," Murong Yan ordered.
The maid brought the meal—four dishes and a soup, mostly light fare, but a plate of braised pork was particularly conspicuous. Zuo Canglang prepared to take her leave, but Murong Yan said, "Sit."
Startled, she sat across from him. Murong Yan picked up his chopsticks and placed a piece of braised pork in her bowl. "My diet has always been light; I fear you might not be used to it. So, I specifically ordered an extra dish for you. Try it."
Zuo Canglang was overwhelmed by the unexpected favor. Murong Yan said, "Do not be surprised. When Yang Lianting was gravely injured, you and I made a pact, and I have fulfilled my word. Now, your entire being belongs to me. Naturally, I will treat you differently from others."
Zuo Canglang asked, "Is that why my Lord has kept me by his side?"
Murong Yan signaled for her to eat, saying slowly, "Because of the promise you made, because of your skills and intellect, because of your name, and because of your eyes."
Zuo Canglang found she could no longer eat. An inexplicable emotion slowly spread through her heart, like a piece of sugar melting under high heat, stretching into fine threads, tangled and clinging. But no matter what form it took, a single glance was enough to feel a sweetness that seeped into her very soul.
Murong Yan sat at the table, watching her eat. His gaze was as warm as a spring breeze, his features sharp and well-defined, with a high bridge to his nose and thin lips. When he occasionally offered a faint smile, he could enchant a person's heart without even trying.
That night, Zuo Canglang was assigned a private courtyard within the manor. Wang Yunzhao brought her the white light armor of a guard and said, "From now on, you are His Highness’s personal guard. His Highness has two other close guards, Zhou Xin and Feng Ping. You will need to rotate shifts with them at the appointed times. If anything happens, you must report to Feng Ping immediately. In short, His Highness must never be without protection..."
He prattled on about the rules for personal guards. Zuo Canglang stroked the light armor in her hands, feeling as though she were in a dream.
After a sleepless night, the next day, Murong Yan followed the King of Yan’s orders to go to the West China Gate to welcome the envoys from Xijing. Zuo Canglang accompanied him. Murong Yan rode in a sedan chair while Zuo Canglang walked beside the window. It was still early, and there were few people on the long streets.
Zuo Canglang was somewhat puzzled. "Does the arrival of the Xijing envoys require Your Highness to go so early to receive them?"
Murong Yan said, "Yan is currently a vassal state of Xijing. When the superior state sends an envoy, it is as if the Emperor of Xijing himself has arrived. Not only I, but even my Royal Father, will not be late."
Zuo Canglang was very surprised. "The arrival of a Xijing envoy requires the King of Yan to lead his ministers to the city gates? This..."
Murong Yan smiled. "During the Battle of Pingdu Pass years ago, the main force of our army was annihilated. If not for Great General Wen Qi fighting to the death and refusing to surrender, turning the tide at the last moment, Yan would have long ago been trampled into dust by the Xijing iron cavalry. Later, Xijing relented, agreeing to let Yan survive as a vassal state. Yan pays tribute and declares itself a subject every year; only then did the hostilities cease. Our country is a surrendered state, so the Xijing envoys naturally put on great airs."
Zuo Canglang nodded, walking briskly alongside the sedan carriers. Murong Yan added, "Once we reach the West China Gate, just stay by my side. I will tell you what you should do."
Zuo Canglang responded with an affirmative, feeling truly grateful. After all, she was only a fifteen-year-old youth who had just emerged from the orphan camp; she knew nothing of the palace or the court and had not even learned proper etiquette. Suddenly following Murong Yan to welcome foreign envoys, she was inevitably nervous and apprehensive.
An hour later, they finally arrived at the West China Gate. Many civil and military officials were already waiting, though the King of Yan had not yet arrived. The ministers gathered in small groups, conversing in low voices. When they saw Murong Yan approach, there was a round of pleasantries, but even Zuo Canglang could see that these officials only showed him a polite, superficial respect.
Murong Yan held no official post in the court; though an adult, he possessed no noble title. He nodded slightly to the crowd and took his designated place. Zuo Canglang stood behind him. Murong Yan suddenly tilted his chin toward a spot not far away and said, "That man is Great General Wen Qi."
Zuo Canglang looked up. Even in a place like the orphan camp, the children had heard of the famous Wen Qi. He was the hero of Yan. During the Battle of Pingdu Pass, when the Yan army was in shambles, the King of Yan had hastily appointed him commander. Only twenty years old at the time, he had accepted the commission in the face of disaster, leading a remnant force of fewer than thirty thousand in a desperate struggle. Eventually, he forced the Xijing army to exhaust their supplies and agree to peace talks.
It was also in this battle that Wen Qi’s father, Old Master Wen, had lost a leg.
Yet this near-legendary Great General did not have three heads and six arms. He stood in his place, and when court officials occasionally greeted him, he merely gave a slight nod. Since the King had not arrived, the officials clustered in groups, making the factions within the court clearly visible.
As Zuo Canglang was quietly observing everyone, a sudden commotion rippled through the crowd. She looked up to see the King of Yan’s procession approaching, with the Crown Prince, dressed in crimson robes, accompanying the carriage. The civil and military officials lined up on both sides, bowing and kneeling. King Murong Yuan slowly descended from the six-dragon carriage, wearing a black upper garment and crimson lower garment, his ceremonial crown’s beads swaying before him, his bearing grave and majestic.
He walked past Murong Yan, his gaze never lingering on him for a moment. Instead, he walked to Wen Qi’s side, helped him up, and engaged him in low conversation.
The sky grew fully bright, and the road outside the West China Gate had been cleared perfectly. The ministers fell silent. Before long, the sound of approaching carriages drew near, and a scout arrived to report: "Reporting to the King of Yan—the envoy from Xijing, Lord Zhu, and his party have arrived outside the city!"
King Murong Yuan lightly raised his right hand, and immediately, the drums and music began to play in unison. The carriage of the Xijing envoy, Lord Zhu, arrived at the city walls. The King of Yan personally stepped forward to welcome him into Jinyang, proceeding all the way toward the royal palace. Zuo Canglang followed behind Murong Yan, entering the palace as well. Murong Yan did not speak, and she did not ask questions.
Suddenly, she heard a voice nearby, one that was extremely familiar. Zuo Canglang turned her head and saw Leng Feiyan holding some sort of pastry, eating while winking at her. Yang Lianting followed behind her, his expression one of utter helplessness.
The two of them had no assignments for the moment and had come out together to watch the spectacle.
***
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